Headaches - Part 1

For the last 3 months, I have been getting headaches.

 Not just a minor throbbing in the temporal area, but something that feels like a full-on explosion, like acid seeping between my grey matter. I started treating myself with normal painkillers, and eventually, after my boyfriend complained that my “headache” was an excuse for EVERYTHING, I decided to do something about it. I ingeniously deduced that it could be caused by stress due to a culmination of things:

1.       Doing shift work which results in a zombie-like, sleep deprived state when you don’t know what day of the week it is, let alone the location of one’s own ass hole.

2.       Temporarily living with my parents in an attempt to save money before relocating to the UK. Whilst it seemed like a good idea at the time, after 5 months of not having my own space, it can get a bit tiring.

3.       Having my boyfriend live with me AND my parents. Great way to get over the make or break stage, as he discovers the inner workings of my family unit and exactly where all my issues stem from.  

4.       Studying for the biggest exam to date.

4 reasons should be sufficient for you to comprehend the dilemma.
My quick fix for stress:        


Undoubtedly the best way to relax and de-stress. Going for massages has become my coping mechanism for dealing with the crap of the last 4 years. At 03:30am, whilst stitching a drunken man, whose friend decided to stab him with a broken bottle because he drank some of his precious beer, the mere thought of having a massage the next day, saves me for the next few hours of mayhem.
I book myself for a 60 minute back and neck rubdown at a local place that I’ve never been to.
 Before I continue with this little story, allow me to digress quickly to the lessons of this post:
LESSON 1. – do NOT go for a massage at ANY place, especially if you have never heard of it, or never heard anything about it. A lot of people like to think they are beauty therapists and skilled in the art of manipulating your back and wallet.
So back to the story….. I arrive for my massage on my day off, in between my study break. As I approach the institution, I notice that it is a hair salon- slash-beauty salon-slash-coffee house.
LESSON 2. – if it’s not a spa/beauty salon on its own, it isn’t one at all.
There is an obese woman sitting outside smoking. Being in the medical field, I’ve seen a lot of overweight people. The word “obese” is not something that I casually throw around. For me it is a word that I strictly reserve for the > 150kg category.
I realize 5 minutes later that this is my therapist. She leads me upstairs to a little room with an appropriate massage table and my hope to unwind is restored. She begins the treatment and after around 3.45 minutes, I feel her lean her one arm on me. She was actually resting her massive limb on top of my back. All I could see for my little hole, were her podgy shins in too tight shoes. She started to sigh a few times and even cracked out a yawn. I could not believe it…
“I’m sorry, is this a tad tiring for you? Is performing this menial task, exhausting your lump of a body? How dare I just lie here and fork out well-earned cash, whilst you slave away. How rude of me! ”
This is what I prepared to say, but thinking something and having the balls to say it, are 2 completely different things for me. It would’ve all been OK if the massage had been good, but someone poking me with a sharpened stick could’ve been equally unpleasant. I painstakingly endured the next 50 minutes of feeling as if a concrete slab was crushing my left side and arrived home with my headache increased ten-fold.


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